Never Once
by CCEtheWritingNinja
Summary: The Hunger Games in Clove's POV.
1. Prologue

His silhouette is inky black against the moonlit pond. I am not expecting him to be here by the water. My comfy leather boots have a silent tread. Often, in times like these, I find myself thankful for this. I am able to backtrack away from him unnoticed.

His name is Cato. Once upon a time Cato and I were an inseparable pair. Sometimes I wish that we were still friends laughing and playing in the pond. But I was only four years old, and he was only six.

Training had been the cause of the rift between us. In training Cato and his 'gang' began to tease me. When I turned seven it became physical. Maybe if I tried I could beat them. Actually by this point I know that I could. But I'm waiting for the right time. I want them to be so surprised that they wet their flower-print boxers.

Mostly I'm teased for my small frame. I appear almost a year younger than I really am. This can be very annoying. People assume that because I'm small, I'm useless. But I'm saving my abilities, and practicing every day.

Anyone who fights me, so basically everyone, beats me. Even my drunkard of a father fights me. My mother, Casta, isa pacifist and she's too scared to stand up to Harry. Actually she would be dead by now if Harry hadn't once been at least half decent. I don't really see the point of calling Harry 'Father'. I mean, if you can't handle being a father you can't be called one. It really is _that_ simple.

My little sister couldn't care less about Harry. She ignores him and he ignores her. She's only a year younger than me. Her name is Jen and, even though I know that she is plenty independent on her own, I can't help but worry if something might hurt her. Also she hates it when I think of her as small. And when I call her Jenny. But she is twelve years old, plenty old enough to take care of herself by District 2 standards.

Sometimes even she fights me and she only just got started training. Most people start at eight years. But I started at six and she started at eleven. She doesn't know that I let her win.

The Training Centre in District 2 is actually slightly larger than the one in the Capitol that tributes use prior to the Hunger Games. Or so I've been told. Several victors work there as trainers. The only one that I care for is Felipe.

I think that Felipe sees through my persona, the silly façade that only I truly recognize. He knows how lethal and sharp I really am. Or at least I think so anyways. He too teases me, though only playfully.

Maybe he'll sneak me a donut and say that it will 'help me grow' because I'm so small. Or on a day that I'm a rush and can't finish my morning routine, he'll ask if I've been practicing knot tying with my hair.

One time he gave me a four-leafed clover on my birthday. Smiling innocently he had said, "Here's a clover for you Clover. I recommend wishing for some skills." Well… maybe that was a little mean, but I still thought it was funny. Despite that wretched nickname.

Only Felipe can call me Clover or Clovey or Clovely and get away with it. My last name, Ryan, too. Those names rub me the wrong way. At least nobody knows my middle name, Estelle. Clove Estelle Ryan. But those nicknames can get so irksome that I want to let them know about my secret. But I'm saving that.

If only they all knew. They would all respect me. Nobody would _dare_ jump me. Well except for Harry, but, as I've mentioned, I don't respect or care about him. And he's a drunk.

However sometimes, when I'm on the verge of losing control, I have to think to myself. I think about the piece of paper in a shoebox full of secrets and memories under my bed. Under my stone gray covered bed in my stone gray colored room.

You can throw. You always keep them close. You never miss. And they don't know that. Yet.


	2. Chapter 1

Birthdays are overrated. Usually. Not this one. Today is my fourteenth birthday. After today most people will be scared of me. People in District 2 tend to jump me on special occasions. They think that it's fun. Guess what? I have a friend named Karma. Bring it on, suckers.

I whistle as I walk. My happiness will only increase my chances of being attacked. Good. Any moment now somebody will start to follow me. Please do, you'll regret it. I can hear grass being crushed by several pairs of feet. Also good. Soft and muffled snickers from behind. As I pass the entrance of the Training Centre, somebody whoops, "Hey Clovey!"

Cato's gang member, Al, is the speaker. Cato and half of his group stand beside him. The other half have me surrounded. Because of this and arrogance, they think that they've already won.

"Going somewhere?" Al asks, wearing a cruel smile on his acne ridden face.

"Just waiting for you morons actually," I reply casually, even though it was a rhetorical question.

Al seems surprised for a moment. Then he sneers, "Why's that, Ugly?"

"Look who's talking, Pimples," I say and receive an awkward laugh/cough from the others. I smile innocently. Al turns bright red.

"Shut up, Clovey," he snaps.

"Don't be rude, Pimples. After all it is my birthday. And I want something awfully badly," I say. My smile stays innocent, a final façade. For now.

"Well that's too bad Clovey. We're gonna give you your birthday present now. It's your funeral," Al laughs drawing a sword.

"How many times did you repeat that to yourself in the mirror Allison? Anyways I think that this," I draw my knives and ignore the laughing, "might be more fun." I smile wickedly and throw knife number one at his ankle, where it sticks. I might have some fun with this.

Al flings his sword to the ground and grabs his foot, weeping like a little girl. The others are surprised that I actually hit him. Even though I ignore their opinions (because I hate them), it's kinda insulting. Knife number two hits him right in the gut. Howling Al writhes around on the concrete until knife number three hits him in the forehead and kills him. And surprisingly, I'm not satisfied by this kill. I yearn for more. Must be a District 2 thing.

"So what were you boys saying?" I tease retrieving my knives and wiping them off on Al's ratty clothes.

"What did you just do Clove!?" Cato yells. There's something off about it though. Or I'm just crazy.

"Oh what so now I'm human enough to have an actual name? Or is somebody scared? Also I did you a favor by killing the little freak," I laugh arrogantly. Cato gapes. I could've sworn that the look was almost… approving. One by one his pathetic pack runs off. He follows suit hurriedly.

I turn and begin the trek home, taking a detour though the park. I am so elated that, even though I hate mockingjays, I find myself singing with them. There really isn't any good reason for me to hate the mockingjays. When I think about it, there is no reason at all good or bad. And singing. God I do _not _sing. Not in the shower, not in my room, my house, in the hallways at school, _never _in public. _Maybe_ a hum once or twice by the lake. I used to when I was little.

It just isn't smart to be compassionate or artsy in District 2. Or at least to show those qualities. In District 2, where killing others is only slightly frowned upon by the mayor. In District 2 where your first kill is privately celebrated. An accomplishment in civilization.

But I am so happy and so amused that I don't care. I am not thinking about mistakes or consequences. It feels good to not think or analyze. I know that my mental lapse from society will be brief, so I might as well savor it.

It reminds me of Cato and I singing at the secret pond by the fence when we were little. Carefree little kids, doing mindless little kid things. Always, always clueless and happy. Oh how things have changed.

"I love your voice. Always have. Remember we would sing by the old pond? We would sing and giggle and swim. That was nice," Cato's soft tone surprises me. I hadn't even realized that I was being followed.

"What do you want!?" I snarl, knife in hand.

He throws his hands into the air in surrender and takes a step back. "Nothing really. I just heard you singing. And I wanted to say congrats," He says somewhat defensively.

"Congrats? Wasn't he your friend?" I question.

"Eh, not really. He was pretty annoying. But you should have let him live so that the nickname Allison could catch on."

"You liked that huh?"

"It was clever."

"Thanks I guess."

"I honestly didn't know that you could pull off that whole sadist thing. Well okay I've seen more sadistic but that was a pretty good show. Reminds me of that Johanna chick from seven."

"Obviously. There's a lot that you don't know about me."

"You still haven't answered my question; about the singing by the old pond."

"Yes. I remember that. We've changed a lot since. Especially you."

"Maybe things don't have to change. What if we-"

"I have to go," I say abruptly, cutting him off. I break out into a run and don't look back when he calls my name. I really hope that he doesn't decide to follow me. I mean, every girl likes Cato, and if we got close to each other that would mean more fights than ever, and I'd rather keep the killing to a minimum.

Or would I?

I stop, only slightly out of breath, in front of my house. We live in the upper-class area of District 2, but that's not saying much; because the whole District is upper-class. I throw open the door, acting like I've never been scared to before, and march in. Jen and Mother stare from the kitchen.

"Since when do you own the place?" Jen asks me with a surprised look that mirrors the one Mother wears exactly.

"Where's Harry?" I ask ignoring them.

"Passed out at the bar. Where else would he be?" Jen says.

"Your _father_ is having his _night out_," my mother corrects. She _dislikes_ when we call him Harry. She also _dislikes_ the word hate.

"A night out? At noon?" I laugh.

"From twelve to twelve," Jen teases.

"Every single day."

"So why did you just barge in Clovey?" Jen asks me grinning.

"Because I just killed somebody, and I plan on killing more. So, Jenny, if I were you I wouldn't call me Clovey, because that's what he called me," I say nonchalantly. Mother gasps in horror.

"Awwww! I was so hoping that you weren't one of those people who hides their talent and then surprises the crap out of everyone! I wanted to get my kill before you!" Jen pouts crossing her arms.

"Girls! How dare you discuss such a vulgar topic so casually!? And you watch your language Jennifer Ann!" Mother scolds.

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, it's kinda the District norm. And nobody considers that 'language' Mom," I say almost laughing.

"Clove you could get in trouble, you know the mayor has an aversion to killing," she says.

"Yeah but not a big enough one to do anything about it," I mutter under my breath.

"Excuse me!?"

"I'm going to go to the gym now," I say.

"Yeah me too!" Jen chirps and we slip outside before Mother can protest. For a little while we walk in silence.

"Who did ya kill?" Jen asks as we near the huge mountain, known as The Source, in the center of our District. I think that I've heard of other districts calling it The Nut. As in, a tough 'nut' to crack. It's called The Source because it's where we and The Capitol get our newest weapons from. Well and peacekeepers, but nobody really cares as much about that. It's 'the source' of all things sharp and fun to play with. The gym is just slightly to the west of it. Our main town square, where we hold the reapings, is right in between the gym and The Source.

"Al," I reply.

"I never liked him."

"Did anyone?"

"His momma," Jen says and I almost snort.

"Maybe," I allow.

"So do you have a specialty?"

"Knives."

"How did ya kill him?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, yeah, that was a stupid question."

"A bit," I smile. What an understatement.

"Are you good with anything else?"

"I'm okay at most things I think. I havent really tried anything else, except for-"

"Knives. You like those," Jen teases cutting me off.

"Yeah. You should have seen Cato and his pathetic little friends!" I laugh as we approach the gym. It had only taken us about five minutes, which was quite good time. Jen looks up and smiles wickedly at me.

"Don't hurt yourself," I tease as we step in. An immediate silence greets us. People see me and are creeping slowly towards us. They haven't heard then.

"Hi," I say quietly. They smile devilishly. I dart over to the knife throwing station. I notice Felipe standing against a wall. They all seem confused. I select an almost dainty looking knife. A few people chuckle. Gently, I run my fingers along the blade. Suddenly with a flick of my wrist the knife is hurtling towards the target. It hits the fatal mark with a satisfying thud. I grab another and throw it while spinning around a complete circle. The knife penetrates the target's 'brain' and continues through. Nobody has ever actually ripped through the target before.

"Hi," I say quietly again, but with malice and satisfaction, as I turn to face everyone. Even Jen's mouth is hanging open, and she knew that I'd killed somebody earlier. Everyone is shocked. Everyone except for Cato.

"Clove killed Al. Earlier today. I saw it," he says. A few people nod in assent. Even more people back up. But a few just roll their eyes, those are the ones with more than one kill. People then proceed to resume whatever the heck it was that they had been doing before I had actually shown up.

Felipe walks up to me smiling and takes a knife. I smile back and beckon my sister over. She seems unusually shy about coming over to us. Respectfully she dips her head to Felipe. For some unknown reason she seems to be petrified of trainers, on or off duty.

"Jen, it's just Felipe, why so formal?" I ask rolling my eyes. Felipe gives me a light smack in the back of the head. And of course Jen just laughs nervously.

"Show some respect Miss Ryan," he says in his authoritative trainer voice.

"Jeez fine," I say rubbing the spot where he 'hit' me.

"Clove," Jen says trailing off. I turn only to see Cato come to a stop about three feet in front of me, trying very hard keep his distance and avoid a fight. Not hard enough though.

"You realize that I can speak for myself, right?" I ask him coldly.

"Well yeah. I just thought that maybe, you know, you could use some help," he said in an almost scared yet defensive tone.

"I don't need your help!" I snap and he steps back.

"Fine, be that way…. Clover," he says angrily. Oh no he didn't. I am going to enjoy publicly torturing him. I lunge, knife still in hand, and drag him by the front of his shirt, pinning him against the wall.

"What did you call me!?" I spit.

"Clover," he snarls back. I emit a small scream of rage and smack him into the wall again. I raise the blade of my knife to his throat. I can see the fear in his eyes and in the moment I allow myself to unleash the evil side of me fully. The side of me that thrives on fear. The side of me that nobody knows. That I hardly know.

Because I've waited so long for this. So long that I can't control myself.

All of a sudden, someone pulls me away from my prey. I lash out and slip away from the person. Quick as lightning, I turn to face my assailant and assume the fighting stance.


	3. Chapter 2

It's Felipe. I snap out of my frenzy immediately. Some people smile at me, some whisper disappointedly, but most of them just gape.

"Screw you!" Cato gasps and pushing his way out.

"No Cato! Wait!" I scream dashing out after him. I catch up and pull him towards me.

"Get off!" he snaps.

"No. Please just listen to me! I'm sorry I got angry and I lost control! I don't know what happened, I'm so sorry Cato!" I plead.

"You tried to kill me! You think that, if you say you got angry but it's all good now, I'll forgive you!?"

"I've been holding it in for fourteen years Cato! And it's partly your fault!"

"You're right I'm an asshole," he says sarcastically and angrily.

"Yeah you are," I say. He bursts out laughing.

"Shut up," I mutter, but then, so do I. We just stand there laughing at each other. I'm sure that if you were to pass by us, you would think that we needed therapy or something.

"We are so messed up," he says after a while.

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Do you ever wish that you could be a little kid forever?" he asks.

"Always."

"We have such a complicated relationship. I mean sometimes we're friends, sometimes we're enemies. It's just complicated," he murmurs.

"I know…. Hey Cato?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we at least try to refrain from killing each other? Maybe even try to be friends? Like we used to be. It's just that nothing's the same anymore and I wish that I could have something, anything really, back. And this sort of seems like a good thing to salvage," I attempt to joke. Honestly I mean it though, and I can tell that he sees it to.

"Yeah. I think that I can try to not kill you, but no promises," he teases and I laugh.

"You're making this too difficult for me," I smile.

"Oh? Changed your mind Clover?" he taunts teasingly.

"Yes!" I laugh.

And then without warning he pulls me in and kisses me. Wow. I really wasn't ready for that. It wasn't like a big long romantic kiss or anything, just a little kiss. He's looking at me kind of funny. And then I realize that I'm gaping. How stupid I must look, I think, as I close my mouth.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks laughing. I don't answer because if I do it will only come out as a big blob of hyperventilation.

"Umm," my attempt at words is failing me big time.

"Was that okay of me?" he sounds concerned.

"No."

"Clove I'm so sorry."

"I mean no, I'm not sure about that," I grin.

"Why you little jerk!" he laughs.

"How about we just forget that all of this ever happened?" I ask.

"Fine by me," he laughs awkwardly.

We sit in silence for a while. But it's a comfortable silence. Filled with unspoken thoughts. The sun begins to set.

"I have to go. Training. But you know that of course," I add. Cato's training hours are the same as mine. Except he trains with Brutus and/or Enobaria.

"Of course," he replies.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. But let's keep this whole friends thing to a minimum, people will already be talking about you and-"

"I know. I don't want any rumors going around either," I smiles at me. A very rare genuine smile.

"Later," Cato says, and with that he leaves me standing there, all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

"Ryan!" Felipe barks, "As of your little _display_ last night, we all know that you can do better! Honestly! It's like you're not even trying!"

"Well maybe I'm not very good with a mace! Just because I can send a knife through somebody's brain doesn't mean I excel at everything else! My god…."I mutter in frustration.

"Alright then. If you're going to be like this I can't teach you anything. We'll at least try swords and then you can do as you please," Felipe sighs. We walk over the sword fighting area. Cato is there working with Brutus. A couple of nine year olds let off early are gaping at him. I stifle a laugh. They must be new.

"Very good Cato," Brutus praises. It sounds kind of sarcastic, but that's just how Brutus talks, "Now try slicing upwards. Stop at the chin and then…. Blah, blah, blah." Or at least that's what I hear.

"Go on and pick one," Felipe sounds exasperated that he has to tell me to do this. Cato turns and grins at me. Then he beheads the dummy that he had been murdering, without even looking.

"Impressive," I say and turn to pick a sword to use. A petite silver number with golden patterns etched into its hilt catches my eye. Truth be told, it's a bit heavier than I would have expected but I quickly get used to its weight. Besides it's still way lighter than the mace.

Completely ignoring the words coming out of Felipe's mouth, I turn to a dummy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cato cut another dummy right through the mid section. Mimicking his actions I swing the blade. The torso doesn't disconnect like Cato's did, but it makes a nice long clean cut.

Felipe stops talking. Cato smiles.

"Nice cut," he says.

"It wasn't horrible for your very first try," Brutus allowed. That was actually a tremendous compliment. Coming from him anyways.

"I suppose we're done for today, have fun," Felipe says. I grin and dart over to the throwing knives.

A set that matches the sword that I had just been using sparked my interest. I pick a pretty, yet, cruel blade from the collection. I twirl it with my fingers to get a feel for the weapon.

I slip naturally into the throwing stance, and am about to release the knife when I am interrupted.

"Those are my knives, Clovey," somebody says obnoxiously. The nasally voice that make me want to slit my throat belongs to none other than Jaysee Zezili. I hate that girl so much. How she's the most popular person in the District, I have no idea. Actually, come to think of it, I've maybe only once seen her throwing knives. Ever.

I turn to face her. Tall and blonde. They call her 'the sixteen-year-old bombshell'. Ugh, please.

"Really? I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Give them to me then!" Jaysee whine/squeals in such a high frequency that it deafens me for about seven seconds. I stare at her. She is looking at me like I'm stupid and inferior.

"No," I finally say. I then turn away from her and throw the knife at the target. Then I grab another one of 'her' knives, just to annoy her.

"That's mine!"

I release the knife and grab another.

"Not anymore."

Release. Grab.

"Excuse me!?"

Release. Grab.

"You're excused."

Release. Grab.

"Are you insane!? I'm gonna report you!"

Release. Grab.

"For what?"

Release. Grab.

"For stealing my knives!"

Release. Grab.

"You do that." She won't. And if she does, nobody cares anyways.

Release. Grab.

"Are kidding? You have to be kidding me! Nobody talks back to _me_! Especially not morons like you!"

Release. Grab.

"Too bad."

Release. Grab.

"Cato! Come over and tell this idiot to cut it out with my knives!"

Release. I'm out of knives.

"Those aren't yours, they're mine. Anyways Clove can use those whenever she wants," Cato replies walking over to us.

I run and fetch the knives.

"Why!?" whines Jaysee.

Release. Grab

"Because she's talented, that's why."

Release. Grab.

"Not as talented as me!"

Release. Grab. She shoves me down and snatches the knife right out of my hands.

"Hey!" I shout. She throws and misses the fatal point in the chest by an inch. Serves her right. I slam into Jaysee, pinning her to the ground. She struggles furiously, but I hold her. It's a move that I learned from Cato. He would pin me all of the time when we were friends.

"You're only what? Twelve? How are you pinning me down!?"

"I'm fourteen. Now give the knives back!"

"Fine you little freak! Oh my god you're insane!" she says as I let her up. She leaves the knives on the floor and begins backing away. Cato is clearly pleased and choking back laughter. We reach down to pick up the scattered weapons at the same time. Our heads slam together and we fall back amused and rubbing our heads.

"Ow," we say in unison, which only makes us laugh harder. And of course the laughing doesn't help the pain any. Which results in us pretty much being a mess of hilarity and curses.

"All right everyone out! Day's up! Come back tomorrow!" Brutus roars. Immediately every one drops what they're doing and begins to depart. Except for us. Apparently we hit our heads that hard. Brutus is not the kind of person whom you ignore.

"You two! Cato, Clove! Out!"

We help each other up and scamper towards the doors. Brutus and the other trainers exit behind us and begin to lock up.

I don't realize that we are running to the pond until we arrive and collapse. Eventually we stop our strange cycle of giggles and curses, and lay there, basking in the sunlight by the pond. My fingers trail in the cool stony-blue water.

And then out of nowhere, I am doused with pond water. I fling myself at Cato and shove him in. Unfortunately for me, he pulls me along. I don't know how long our water battle has been going on for, but the sun is now setting. The sky is transformed into a canvas of pinks, oranges, and grays.

"I'll see you tomorrow Clove."

"See ya, Cato."

All the way home I think of Cato. Not in a gooey, obsessive, teenage-girl way. I just think of him. We really could be friends like we used to… maybe even better.

I stand before my house and smile. Maybe Jen and I can have one of our late night talks about whatever random crap pops into our heads. It's a nice break from weapons and the Hunger Games. Not that I don't enjoy both, I most definitely do.

I open the door and close it behind me. The house is very dark. As soon as it is closed somebody says something.

"There you are," the garbled speech can only belong to a very drunk Harry. Now that I'm actually paying attention, I can smell the stench of alcohol in the air.

I can hear his footsteps approaching me. Crap. Harry grabs the front of my shirt pulling me closer. He's going to hit me. He'll lock the door first, so that I can't escape.

Right then and there I remember that I have one of my knives in my boot. Harry is loudly fumbling for the lock on the door now. As fast as I can manage, which is extremely fast, I draw the knife from my boot and slash the hand holding me. He gives a strangled screech as his grip goes lax and I shove him away, slide out the door, and run.

I'm not being a coward by running or anything. It's just that I'm smart enough to not sleep in the same building as him. I suppose I'll have to start paying the bartender to put sleep syrup in Harry's drinks so that I can actually sleep in my own house. Nobody gets worried or even cares if Harry comes home at night or not.

I run to the first place that comes to mind. When I arrive at the pond I lay down on the large flat rock that protrudes about a foot over the surface of the water. The stone is cool to the touch. I peer over the edge, gazing at the girl that I see looking back at me. She is strong, determined, and intelligent. I like her. I think.


End file.
